Ben Crowder

Just read an interview with Richard Dutcher in Christianity Today. I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. Two thoughts:

First, I feel somewhat uncomfortable with it, and not in a good way. It’s the “he’s falling away” kind of flavor, not the “he’s pushing the boundaries and making changes for the better.” I sense darkness, not light. Sure, I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am.

Here’s where I get the feeling that he’s falling away:

But you ended up settling in the Mormon church? Dutcher: My wife and kids predominantly attend the LDS church, but I’m so busy that I’m really not active in that community any more. I travel so much, and I find myself just choosing whatever service appeals to me that week. When I’m in Burbank, I attend a Catholic church. And I’ve recently noticed a Greek Orthodox church across the street, so I’ll probably hit that too.

Now, I have no problem whatsoever with attending other churches, unless it means we’re not attending sacrament meeting. And that’s what it sounds like is happening with Dutcher. Not that I want (or need) to nitpick the details in Dutcher’s spiritual life, passing or failing him as it were. But I do think his personal life will inevitably affect his art.

Moving on:

Do you believe the Book of Mormon is the Word of God, like the Bible? Dutcher: You’re not supposed to ask me that! That’s not on your approved list of questions? Dutcher: [Laughing.] That’s right. I’ve gone through a real evolution in my religious views and in my faith over the past four years, so I’m reluctant to get too far into that. I could give an answer which is accurate, and yet the ramifications of that would be misinterpreted. Does that make any sense? Do you know what I’m getting at? Yeah, it sounds like you don’t want to answer the question. Dutcher: Well, uhh, I guess I don’t have a problem answering it, but it needs to be a pretty long answer. Let’s just say that my religious views are much more universal than one would expect from someone raised … I’m starting to sound like a politician now. But I don’t believe that Mormons have any special claim to God. I don’t believe that Mormonism has any special doorway to heaven.

There are two ways to read that, I think. Either he means that God loves all His children and tries to help all of them get back to live with Him again, or he means that he no longer believes in the authority given to Joseph Smith from God and passed on down to the present day (the “special doorway” being the ordinances and covenants). I hope he meant the former. If the latter, he’s getting awfully close to apostasy.

Again, I don’t mean that thinking other religions are good is a bad thing. I love other religions, or at least the light that God has given them (and I do believe He has given substantial knowledge and light to the various religions of the world). But no matter how much I love them, I also know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, and that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is God’s church, and nothing is going to change that.

Second thought: I do think that aiming at a “Mormon aesthetic” which sugarcoats life isn’t going to help anyone, or at least not deeply enough to matter. For example, I saw States of Grace a few weeks ago, and when the movie was over I was shaken. It really did make me rethink the Atonement, and it made it more real to me.

And yet I have reservations about the movie. I don’t know. The sense of redemption comes across pretty clearly, but the sense of goodness (light, truth, etc.) seems dimmed. I’m not doing a very good job of explaining this. That’s probably because I don’t quite understand it myself yet. :)

At this fork in my internal road, I see two paths. The first says that this lack of light (which isn’t an entirely accurate label, but it’ll do) is indeed a problem, and that my gut is right in feeling uncomfortable. The second says that I’ve been sheltered into expecting warm fuzzies all the time, and that I need to adapt my views — that edgy is part of reality, and so on.

I think I’ll take the first path.

You see, it’s not the portrayal of evil that troubles me. Case in point: in the new Joseph Smith movie, bad things happen, and the Satan scenes are dark and definitely not warm-fuzzy inspiring. And I have no problem with that. The difference, to me at least, is that in the Joseph Smith movie I don’t have that gnawing sense of hollowness that I did when I saw States of Grace. The same goes for The Work and the Glory: evil is portrayed, and yet I don’t feel like I’ve lost the Spirit. With Dutcher’s films, I do. (And here there will be a chorus of people exclaiming that they felt the Spirit more intensely during States of Grace than they’ve felt with any other movie. I don’t know how to reply to that, other than that my reaction is different.)

I certainly don’t want to condemn something that could be good (and I think it is good, at least insofar as it helped me understand the Atonement better), so I’ll leave this as a thought-in-progress. I could of course be wrong. It’s happened before. :)

The floor is now yours.

Heaven’s important, you know. If we do what’s right, that’s where we’ll go, and I think it’s natural to be curious as to what it’ll be like. C.S. Lewis has some insights:

Exhibit A: In The Great Divorce, a group of people get on a bus, leave hell, and arrive in the foothills of heaven. Once they get there, though, they find themselves almost entirely transparent when compared to the solid, material world that greets them. There are bright Spirits who come to them, inviting them to give up their petty pride and become like them: more solid, more real. Most of the people don’t, but the fellow with a red lusty lizard on his shoulder does, and the transformation is incredible. And then there’s a waterfall, so large that one’s field of view would normally be inadequate to take it all in. (I would quote directly but I don’t have my copy with me.)

Exhibit B: The end of The Last Battle has the good guys going to Aslan’s country, where the children learn that the truer reality, so to speak, has been in Aslan’s country all along, and what they thought was reality was just a shadow of the real thing. (Thus the term Shadowlands.) It’s beautiful, and every time I read it I get goosebumps and want to cry for joy.

Exhibit C: At the end of Perelandra, which I just finished two days ago for the CSL class I’m taking, the King and Queen talk about the future: how they’ll teach their children about Christ for the 10,000 years allotted to their world, and then…

“When the time is ripe for it and the ten thousand circlings are nearly at an end, we will tear the sky curtain and Deep Heaven shall become familiar to the eyes of our sons as the trees and the waves to ours.” [said the King] “And what after this, Tor-Oyarsa?” said Malacandra. “Then it is Maleldil’s purpose to make us free of Deep Heaven. Our bodies will be changed, but not all changed. We shall be as the eldila, but not all as eldila. And so will all our sons and daughters be changed in the time of this ripeness, until the number is made up which Maleldil read in His Father’s mind before times flowed.” “And that,” said Ransom, “will be the end?” Tor the King stared at him. “The end?” he said. “Who spoke of an end?” “The end of your world, I mean,” said Ransom. “Splendour of Heaven!” said Tor. “Your thoughts are unlike ours. About that time we shall not be far from the beginning of all things…” [Tor then talks about the cleansing of Earth, wiping Satan off it forever.] “…I did not at once see what you were talking of, because what you call the beginning we are accustomed to call the Last Things.” [said Ransom] “I do not call it the beginning,” said Tor the King. “It is but the wiping out of a false start in order that the world may then begin. As when a man lies down to sleep, if he finds a twisted root under his shoulder he will change his place — and after that his real sleep begins. Or as a man setting foot on an island, may make a false step. He steadies himself and after that his journey begins. You would not call that steadying of himself a last thing?” “And is the whole story of my race no more than this?” said Ransom. “I see no more than beginnings in the history of the Low Worlds,” said Tor the King. “And in yours a failure to begin. You talk of evenings before the day has dawned….”

Now, in LDS theology we don’t believe that the Fall was a failure, but the part that interests me is the bit about “evenings before the day has dawned,” how we’re still in the morning of eternity, so to speak. Intellectually I know that there’s a long forever ahead of us, but my imagination hadn’t really caught hold of that until I read this. Before, I thought of eternity as being somewhat boring, a very, very, very long time. In my mind I knew there will be many wonderful things, but again, my imagination wasn’t convinced. But there’s something in this passage and the others that makes me tremendously excited to get to that point. We’ve only just begun.

All of this is what Lewis calls positive spirituality (in Miracles), opposed to the negative spirituality which purports that the other world is more transparent, less substantial, and altogether less real than ours. For Lewis, though, heaven is more solid, more vibrant, more alive, and unfathomably more real than earth. My imagination much prefers this kind of heaven, and hopes with all its heart that it’s true. My mind, however, still hasn’t quite grokked it, sticking instead with an all-white heaven where angels float around playing harps all day. Boring. I want Lewis’s heaven, where the colors are more vivid, where the joys are sweeter, where I can walk around on celestial beaches and watch celestial sunsets and bask in the spray of celestial waterfalls. And I think LDS theology supports that, even though part of me is stuck in the droll floating-harp tradition. (And personally, I hope the sea of glass thing is just a metaphor, because I don’t really want to live in a Superman crystal cave for the next billion years. :))

The one thing that gives me greatest hope is the profound and holy longing I feel when contemplating these three exhibits. It’s not the same as my wishing that Narnia were real or that I could visit Perelandra, mind you; it’s a different, almost tangible yearning for something that seems to have been part of my being for as long as eternity. It’s just what you would expect to find if heaven were really like that and you caught sight of it for just a moment. In fact, it’s as if for a split second you remember what home is like, with a flood of homesickness washes over you. I’m homesick for heaven.

[tags]C.S. Lewis, Narnia, Perelandra, LDS, Mormon, heaven[/tags]

The Church recently released a new booklet called “Let Virtue Garnish Thy Thoughts” (they have a PDF version available online), and there’s a paragraph I really like:

Some materials that are not explicitly pornographic can still fill your life with darkness and deprive you of spiritual strength. Television programs, pictures, movies, songs, and books often treat unchastity and infidelity as common, appealing, and humorous. Avoid anything that drives the Holy Ghost from your life.

Amen! I see too many people willingly consuming entertainment (in whatever form) that treats the sacred as “common, appealing, and humorous.” Many will say that it’s “not that bad,” that it’s not explicit or what have you. But it’s the philosophy behind it that bothers me. If we imbibe the philosophies of men, we will be affected, and our worldview will change. Period. Especially if we do so on a regular basis. I’ve seen it happen in some of my friends who treat unchastity as a joke, who think of procreation as something common. They wouldn’t say that outright, of course, but it comes through very clearly in the things they say.

While I don’t watch TV, my roommates do, and so I’ve overheard various sitcoms over the past few months. Beyond the vacuous stupidity that runs rampant in this mindless entertainment, inevitably there’s a casual attitude toward sex. Almost every show! It bothered me, but I don’t think it bothered them. They’ve been immunized, I suppose. Actually, desensitized is a more accurate word, and that is precisely what the adversary wants us to be. If we can’t tell that evil is evil, we’re fair game for his twisted and perverse pleasures, enveloping us in a blackening darkness. And from there it isn’t hard to be sucked into the black hole of pornography and fornication and all the rest.

Returning to the topic of TV and movies with said philosophies, it seems like everyone’s watching them. But I’m not a lemming. Sure, at times I feel somewhat out-of-the-circle because everybody’s talking about the latest movie or episode of whatever (I’m tempted to name names but I won’t), but frankly, I’d rather have the Spirit. And yes, by implication that does indeed mean that I feel watching those types of movies and TV shows will drive the Holy Ghost from our lives. And reading through that booklet above implies that the First Presidency agrees. I think I’m in good company here. :)

(Thank heavens for my iPod, by the way. I crank Beethoven’s Ninth up loud enough and soon I can’t hear the TV anymore. :))

[tags]LDS, Mormon, pornography[/tags]

We have nothing to fear but fear itself, said FDR. I hate getting nervous. But I guess it keeps me humble. ~sigh~ (Why can’t I learn to be humble on my own time?!? ;))

So, I’ll be giving the closing prayer at the forum (at roughly 11:45, probably). I’m trying not to get nervous, but the waves of nausea are starting to flow. My bladder has shrunk three sizes. Put the whole thing out of your mind, I tell myself — it’ll all be okay. I’ve been singing “I Have Confidence” to myself all morning. It’s kind of working.

Truth be told, I’m not actually that nervous…yet. In five minutes I’ll start the long walk up to the Marriott Center. Then there’ll be a looooong wait until the end of the forum. (Not to mention I’m dead tired and will be doing my level best not to fall asleep on camera. :)) When I sense that the forum’s almost over — you know, those “wrapping up” signals that speakers inevitably give — that’s when sweat’ll start to bead on my forehead and I’ll get hot under the collar and my heart will thunder like a stampede of gorillas.

And hopefully it’ll disappear as soon as I step up to the podium and start praying. :)

There are a couple of factors to be considered here. First, timing with standing up; since it’s a forum, there’ll be applause, so I mustn’t stand up too soon and steal it. Nor must I wait too late, lest it feel like I fell asleep or forgot I had the prayer. :)

Second, the length of the prayer. While I fully intend on praying by the Spirit, I’ll also be keeping in mind Bruce R. McConkie’s counsel that closing prayers oughtn’t be longer than 30 seconds. That’s good and short. I like short. :) And I should be able to stay awake for a solid 30 seconds. I hope.

Third, nobody really ever remembers the closing prayer, since they’re all itching at the bit to get out of the forum and go eat lunch (or go to class, or whatever it is). Not that talking with God should be treated lightly, of course; I guess what I’m saying is that the only one who’s really going to remember this prayer will be God, which is nice because we’re tight. :)

Enough with the analysis. Writing about this seems to have calmed my soul, at least temporarily. Breathe in, breathe out, slowly. Just hang in there, buckaroo. 11:46 will roll around before you know it. :P

On Motley Vision there’s a post (which first appeared on the AML list) about Richard Dutcher, in which they quote Dutcher (who was quoting Max Golightly, who was a playwriting professor here at BYU back in the day) saying, “The first great Mormon writer will be excommunicated from the Church for his writing.” (I hasten to add that Dutcher didn’t necessarily agree with that; you can read the rest of the post to see what he said about it.) What was Golightly thinking?!? Where on earth do people get the idea that to be a great artist (in whatever medium you work in) you have to rebel against the Church? Honest inquiry doesn’t lead to excommunication; it’s only when you start treading in paths of darkness that you need to worry. May there be many, many great Mormon writers who never even come close to excommunication! (Those who do get excommunicated probably aren’t as “Mormon” as they say they are, frankly.) There seem to be too many brilliant writers in the Church who get intellectualized out of a testimony and become edge-dwellers, forging original trails out into the netherwoods where they get lost and die spiritually. Reading their works is a stale, hollow experience, even when their prose sings. I hope that my own writing — and that of many others — will provide a stark contrast to the faithless darkness all around. Good writing plus the light of God = good literature.

[tags]Mormon, LDS, Richard Dutcher, BYU[/tags]

I don’t go on many dates. It’s not that I’m afraid of dating, nor do I fear rejection (case in point: I once asked the same girl out seven times and got rejected five of those times (and if you’re wondering why I kept asking, it’s because she said yes in between, and she wasn’t giving any direct refusal signs (she was really nice (and nesting parentheses can be addicting)))). I could say I don’t have enough time, but who am I joking? Making time isn’t that hard.

So, with that foundation in place, I was listening to an Education Week talk this afternoon on choosing a marriage partner. “The Lord can’t steer a parked car,” the speaker said. It reverberated in my head and heart. All along I’ve been set in my ways, thinking I was of course right in my attitudes toward dating, yadda yadda yadda. With those words, however, the walls I’d been building all crumbled to pieces.

And with that we now arrive at the point of this article: isn’t it wonderful to have been wrong all along?

Notice the tense — “have been,” not “be.” It’s only when you realize you’ve been on the wrong path that you can make a course correction and get on the right one. And that realization, the proverbial light bulb, is so beautiful it can make your heart want to burst with light and smiles. (At least that’s the way I feel.)

Now, in this particular matter I don’t yet know if I have indeed been wrong all along, but I’m secretly hoping I have. Why? Because I’m stuck on a stagnant plateau, and being wrong means there’s an opportunity to change my viewpoint and make some progress.

I don’t think the sparsity of dates in my past has been a sin, but isn’t this recognition of wronghood what repentance is all about? If we don’t acknowledge our faults, we can’t shed them, and as long as we remain in our fake skins of pride and everything else, we can’t become the true, solid, real people God intends us to be.

This is in response to Joni’s post. When an obsessive blogger’s comment gets rather long, he instinctively recognizes the opportunity for a free blog post. ;) The “as Liz says” parts refer to Liz’s comment.

Methinks that the offense comes from mistaking the portrayal of evil to be an endorsement of evil, as Liz says. For example, in the Book of Mormon itself we have scenes where a girl dances provocatively to seduce a man, Nephites raping and cannibalizing Lamanite women, and decapitation, to name only a few instances (and we won’t even get started on the Bible! :)). But it’s very clear in the text that all of these things are evil and they’re absolutely not condoned or advocated by any stretch of the imagination.

There are, however, a lot of modern books and films which do condone evil, to one degree or another, and I think that’s a plague which is gnawing away at our society. Gratuitous violence and sex and such aren’t acceptable — at least not to followers of Christ, in pursuit of all that is virtuous, lovely, of good report, and praiseworthy.

I do think books and movies that are virtuous and so on can — indeed, must! — portray evil, because the whole point of human existence is to come off conqueror in the struggle against the evils of the flesh and the temptations thrown against us by the adversary. Art (in the general sense, including books and music and film and all that) which doesn’t reflect that reality will inevitably ring false. Being in the midst of this conflict between good and evil, we’re drawn towards stories that mirror our conflict, as opposed to relativistic tales where nothing really matters. Sure, I don’t like evil, but it’s only through a knowledge of the darkness that the light has any meaning to me. The more I comprehend how awfully things can go wrong with humanity, the more I love and cling to the goodness that emanates from the Savior.

One trap that it’s easy to fall into is thinking that it’s okay to consume portrayals of evil that do bring us down and offend the Spirit. That’s wrong. And in the end, it really comes down to that — the way to tell if something is appropriate or not is to see what the Spirit says. If it leaves, it’s not good for the soul, regardless of what we think of it. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, it doesn’t matter so much what we think of things as what God thinks of them, since He has the full perspective.

Following along with what Liz says, it’s much easier to really relate to imperfect characters, complete with a myriad of flaws and foibles, than to apparently perfect paragons of virtue. That doesn’t mean we oughtn’t have an ideal, of course, but I find nothing wrong at all with good people doing bad things, provided that they’re not condoned. Evil and good mustn’t be reversed. But if weaknesses are shown for what they are, we can learn from that — regardless of whether the character triumphs over them in the end or lets them bring him or her down to destruction.

Darn, I want to read Les Mis, but I guess I’d better finish War and Peace first. :)

A continuance of my responses to the talks in general conference…

Boyd K. Packer. I’m a big fan of talks on high standards, if you haven’t noticed. :) The world is too much with us, so we need these higher standards to keep us safe from being deceived and destroyed by the devil. Is there anything too precious to sacrifice to the Lord that we may gain eternal life? We must turn to Christ, let Him heal our lives as we repent for every sin, burning His image into our countenances so that we will be pure, holy, without spot. If that means we must be odd in the world’s eyes, so be it. If friends abandon us because of our loyalty to the Lord, so be it. (Though I think we’ll find that true friends will support us, and false friends aren’t worth it anyway.)

David A. Bednar. It really is stupid to take offense. Why give someone else that kind of power over our lives? We can’t serve others when we’re caught up in self-centered pity parties. The power of Christianity is that we’re in control when we focus on others first, when we radiate the love of God without thought of reward. Taking offense turns off the light and shrivels us up into old prunes in a basement.

A. Roger Merrill. More and more I’m learning how important the Spirit is in following the Lord. There are so many different situations we experience in life, thousands upon thousands of them, and if the Lord were to give commandments in every particular, the book for each person would be the size of Texas. Instead He gives us principles, but even that wouldn’t be enough for us fallen creatures. We need the light. And that’s what we have, in the Spirit. It’s amazing. I love what Elder Merrill said about not being “spiritually passive” — we can’t just show up at sacrament meeting and expect to be spiritually entertained. We have to work to get it.

Craig A. Cardon. The whole point of the gospel is to help us return to live with God again, and the only way to do that is to become like Him. As C.S. Lewis says in Mere Christianity, we have to become little Christs. I was reading Jack Weyland’s The Understudy during the break between sessions (I’ll blog more about it later), and the parts where Michael starts to see people the way Jesus sees them were very powerful. Unconditional love is like a toasty fire of the soul, complete with hot chocolate, sweater, and a good book. :)

Don R. Clark. Part of becoming like Christ is letting Him work through us — becoming instruments in His hands. In my experience, the way to do that is to pray for it, effectively signing up on God’s roster each day for service. Without actively seeking out opportunities for answering others’ prayers, very few will come to us. We need to be listening on the radar (legally, I might add ;)), ready at a moment’s notice to follow the promptings and be the hands of God in blessing the lives of our brothers and sisters. This is one of the keys to discipleship and, not surprisingly, to radiant happiness.

Keith R. Edwards. Elder Edwards’ story of his one-year-old son in the hospital gave me a flood of goosebumps. I’ll leave it at that.

Larry W. Gibbons. If we really are trying to become like Jesus, we can’t hold anything back. He wants all of us, our whole soul, with no nook or cranny left in the dark. It’s the only way He can truly change us; if part of us is still a “rebel who must lay down his arms,” as C.S. Lewis says, we can’t be at one with ourselves and we certainly can’t be at one with God. We must give up our “summer cottage in Babylon,” says Neal A. Maxwell. Heaven and hell cannot coexist. Quoting from Lewis again, this time from The Great Divorce (I figure I’d better make up for the fact that they didn’t quote CSL once! ;)), “If we insist on keeping Hell (or even earth) we shall not see Heaven: if we accept Heaven we shall not be able to retain even the smallest and most intimate souvenirs of Hell.” Are we trying “to serve the Lord without offending the devil?” (Marion G. Romney). We must choose this day and every day hence whom we will serve. No more fence-sitting, no more lukewarm wavering between the two sides: if you’re going to serve the Lord, you’ve got to do it with all your heart, might, mind, and strength. There’s no other way.

Jeffrey R. Holland. I’ve luckily never really felt like the leaders of the Church are out of touch, nor do I ever expect to. God knows what’s up, and He talks with them. The part where Elder Holland said they’re “thoroughly good” kind of got to me — there’s nothing so beautiful and heartwarming as finding someone to be thoroughly good. It’s a treasure, something to cherish. May God bless all the good! For goodness truly is Godness.

President Hinckley. Having the congregation sing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” at the end was an interesting (and electrifying) touch. I thought of Brother Joseph and all he did for the Lord, for the Church, and for us. Brigham continued the legacy, and on it has gone through the years, up to and including President Hinckley. What a wonderful thing it is to have a prophet!

General conference is now over for another six months. I’ve been uplifted and taught, and over the next few months we’ll see if I take these spiritual nuggets and apply them in my life, becoming a changed man, or if I forget them when the morrow comes and remain who I was before the light touched me this weekend.

[tags]General Conference, LDS, Mormon[/tags]

Thomas S. Monson. When President Hinckley passes on (I was going to say “dies,” but that seems like such a strong word), Pres. Monson will become the next prophet. I’ve thought about that a few times, and I’m sure I can support him as the legitimate successor. That’s natural to me; in fact, thinking otherwise is quite foreign, though there are many to whom this sort of thing doesn’t come naturally. But don’t worry, I have my own set of trials and weaknesses. :) Anyway, the depth of paving materials in western Canadian roads is a good image of how the gospel gets us through life. Because of what I know, nothing in life can shatter me. I trust in God and in His Son. No matter what happens to me, no matter how bleak or painful or difficult life may become, I will yet follow my Lord, for His promises are not empty. The bit about spiritual feelings not being intense all the time reminded me of C.S. Lewis’s comment in Mere Christianity that faith is clinging on to what we believe even when our mood changes. (Speaking of CSL, there haven’t been any quotes yet, at least none that I’ve recognized. Only one more session! Too bad Elder Maxwell’s gone. ;)) Finally, I love the J.M. Barrie quote — “God gave us memories, that we might have June roses in the December of our lives.” That’s wall-worthy.

L. Tom Perry. One of my favorite parts of the gospel — and indeed the central part — is Christ. I can’t imagine my religion without Him. Everything centers around Him, because of what He did for us (and still does). At the end of “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief,” the Savior stands before the narrator and says, “Of me thou hast not been ashamed.” In spite of my failings, I am not ashamed of Christ or His gospel. In His name I’ll raise my trumpet high and proclaim the good news of His victory over death and hell, of His healing power, of the warmth of His love, and of all the glorious blessings He has in store for those who follow Him. He truly is the light of the world. I love my Savior.

Richard C. Edgley. On this long road of discipleship, I’ve fallen in love with the sweet, satisfying scent of integrity and honesty. There’s a piercing beauty that comes from being honest even when you lose something because of it. In fact, it’s precisely when honesty results in loss that it’s most beautiful. Being wrong isn’t so bad if you’re honest about it. True principles are a solid foundation upon which you can stand without worrying about losing your footing, and if you were wrong, you need that footing to pick yourself up again and become a better man or woman.

Margaret S. Lifferth. I love kids! Over the past couple of years here at college I’ve missed being around children like I used to. (I have eight younger siblings.) Children are delightful, sparkling little ambassadors from heaven. Sure, they can throw tantrums with the best of them, but I’m growing more and more convinced of the truth of the statement that kids are indeed the joy in their parents’ lives. Raising children in light and truth, teaching them to love and serve the Lord, is intimidatingly difficult, but it’s a challenge I yearn to tackle and come out triumphant. In fact, raising a family is what I want most, more than anything else.

Anthony D. Perkins. I used to be a perfectionist. In some ways I still am. :) But I used to be riddled with “needless guilt” and “exaggerated imperfections,” imagining up some stern God ready at any instant to deny me the Spirit I wanted so bad because of the slightest failure to keep His commandments. Sometime in the last four or five years, however, I learned (and learned with my heart, not just with my mind) that God is loving and that if we were perfect, we’d need no Savior. It’s changed everything. I’ve also learned the importance of keeping an eye of faith set on eternal life — it’s like driving, where if you stare at the ground in front of your car, you’ll waver to and fro; instead you have to focus on an object up in the distance, and only then will you drive straight and true.

Russell M. Nelson. In the past I’ve seen how there’s no time limitation on this dispensation — that it’s the only one which won’t end in apostasy — but it wasn’t till now that I realized how there’s no space limitation, either. The days of localized pockets of covenant people in past dispensations are over, and the gospel has spread over the entire earth. That’s never happened before. It seems obvious, but it didn’t strike me until now.

President Hinckley. While I was watching him speak, I had trouble believing he really was 96 years old. That’s old. Somehow he doesn’t seem that old, at least not today. At any rate, I can see how he’s worried that people are attaching too much to him as a man — since he is charming and well-spoken and all that — when he wants them to cling to the Savior instead. He mentioned that it’s the 150th anniversary of the Willie and Martin handcart company. Did I miss the memo? This was the first I’ve heard of it. Time to wake up, Rip van Winkle. :) Hearing about the handcarts made me want to read about them, so I pulled Gerald Lund’s Fire of the Covenant off the shelf and will start reading it once I post this.

A last word: on singing with the TV, I don’t usually mind if I’m alone, but if there are others in the room who aren’t singing, it’s awkward. :)

[tags]General Conference, LDS, Mormon, Gordon B. Hinckley[/tags]

I used to take copious notes (of everything — general conference, classes, firesides, devotionals, etc.), but a few months ago I realized that I rarely (if ever) read through my notes again. Since then I’ve generally refrained from noting things down unless they really strike me (and if they do, I write about them either in my journal or here on this blog). It’s worked well, I think. But once in a while I wonder if I’m missing out by not having my pen at the ready. By not capturing the steady stream of words, am I letting gems slip through my fingers? I don’t know. What I do know is that my current method is far less stressful. :)

Anyway, seeing Liz’s conference blogcast has got me thinking about doing likewise. We’ll see. :)

(And I used to capitalize “general conference,” but then I noticed that the Church itself doesn’t do so, and I switched.)